


Tryst; or, When The Legend Becomes Fact, Print The Legend

by pronker



Category: Penguins of Madagascar
Genre: Alternate Character Interpretation, F/M, Humor, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 23:24:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9210056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pronker/pseuds/pronker
Summary: Rendezvous as we wish them rarely happen.





	

Title: Tryst; or, When The Legend Becomes Fact, Print The Legend.

  
Author: pronker

  
Era: Sometime during the TV show after  _The Falcon and the Snowjob_

  
Rating: PG-13

  
Pairing: Skipper/Kitka

  
Disclaimer: I make no profit from this fanfiction set in The Penguins of Madagascar using its characters and settings that Dreamworks owns.

  
Summary: Rendezvous as we wish them happen rarely.

  
A/N: A Missing Moment from from a reminiscent scene in Watermelon Snow Chapter 28. As far as shown, there are few Skipper/Kitka stories (I would love to be proven in error!) Anyway, the inspiration began with MegaProlific authors of bodice-rippers catering to the reading public with the heaving bosoms. You know who you are.

  
IOIOIOIOIO

  
IOIOIOIOIO

  
**_COMING SOON TO A ZOOVENIR STORE BOOK RACK NEAR YOU_ **

  
From the author of _Everything You Always Wanted To Know About Penguins But Were Afraid To Ask_ rises an epic romance ...

  
In the midst of turmoil in the Central Park Zoo involving several species but most of all lemurs, one penguin seeks an oasis of passion high above the bustle of the Upper West Side ...

  
**Can the forbidden love between a bird of high-flying, clever prey and a bird of less intelligent prey come to completion? Will the two overcome all difficulties regarding relative size and dominate their entwined destiny as Fate would have them do? Or will the odds against their winning happiness prove as stacked as the odds for winning at Keno in Atlantic City? Best-selling romance author Ava N. Orendous tells the enthralling tale in _Higher Than A Kite --- And Loving It_.**

  
**Kudos for _Everything You Always Wanted To Know About Penguins But Were Afraid To Ask_ :**

  
"Amazing is the only word for our Ava's latest - she combines facts about penguins with pulse-pounding scenarios that blast your preconceptions about bird sensibilities to smoking husks. You will never again observe penguins waddling in quite the same innocent way. A remarkable blend of outré imagination and specious statistics from SCIENCE!" --- E. L. Jimson, author of _I Just Swing That Way, All Right?_

  
~>~

  
"After one relegates nearly all of Ms. Orendous' most recent offering to subway reading during rush hour, what emerges is a pleasant enough diversion that titillates in a mild fashion. This will never make _Good Reads_ , but what of it? The wordsmith reveals in the teaser end chapter that her next opus contains the word kite, which is a bird of prey as well as a kiddie toy, so don't expect any more humor from her than this pun." --- P. D. Havelock, new submissions editor of _Damning With Faint Praise Quarterly._

  
~>~

  
"It's short with three-inch margins and there are lots of blurry black and white photos. Get your bifocals out for this one, people, to catch those convoluted positions that you'll wish you could attempt without throwing your back out." --- Hans Von Franzen, Amazon Vine Reviewer.

  
~>~

  
~<~

  
_Purple Prose Productions is proud to present this excerpt from Ava N. Orendous' **High As A Kite --- And Loving It** with the imprimatur of Ms. Orendous. Reserve your copy today!_

  
From Chapter Nine ("Between The Devil And The Deep Blue Yonder")

  
Gentle breezes wafting across a rooftop ruffled the feathers of two birds who stood poised in uncertainty against a backdrop of impersonal Manhattan edifices. Their history lay in every glance and line of their body language, but the scene spoke of an unexpected yet not unwelcome encounter on brief notice. One bird's expression warmed to a welcome that was nevertheless sensitive to the other's state of angst.

  
"You seem tense, Skipper. Let me help." Kitka moved to stand behind Skipper, who twitched from the residue of battle nerves. Shaken from the efforts of subduing Mort's apocalyptic rebellion against King Julien's tyranny, Skipper trembled as he neared exhaustion. She crooned soothingly as she massaged his neck in a penetrating rub.

Skipper sank to his knees in relief. The daring peregrine falcon's expert touch soon made him forget the knots in his muscles as he turned to limp pho noodles. He bowed his head.

  
"Oh. Oh yeah, right there. _Oh!"_

  
_"Thaaat's_ it, relax into me, lean back, yes, my sweet." Skipper looked up gratefully to see the underside of a razored beak bent not one half inch above his head. From this angle, his beloved seemed all cold killing machine, but her actions spoke of tenderest affection for him. He fell under her spell as their rendezvous blazed off to a stupendous start. Faint music drifted past his earholes, something adagio from Vivaldi's _Concerto No. 1 in E major, Op. 8, RV 269, "Spring._ " The adagio tempo hinted more at _"Summer,"_ with its steamy undertones.

  
Skipper settled back further against her banded chest feathers. A scent that reminded him of home pushed through his senses, but he felt too lazy to identify it. His eyes drifted shut.

Kitka worked his neck like a professional masseuse and when his head lolled to one side, she nibbled right above his earhole as her breathy sigh penetrated the black gloss of dense feathers there. He jumped out of lethargy as he got to his feet.

"Er, uh, I'm in line for this, but I don't want to rush you --- "

Her voice turned into a purr that he didn't recognize. "I've missed you so, Skipper. I've been waiting and going crazy for you. Look." She indicated her nest five feet away. The beguiling scent of seaweed arose from strands embedded in the jumble of twigs and fresh leaves that promised a memorable interlude among the heights of Manhattan. "It's for you. _Only_ for you."

Blushes didn't show through feathers, but Skipper allowed his to push him onto the path of least resistance. As if in a dream, he took the offered tips of her wings while she walked backwards to her nest, pulling him along to what they both wanted and wanted _now_ ...

**THAT WAS THE LEGEND.**

**HERE IS THE FACT.**

"Aw come _on_ ," cajoled Skipper, his eyes glittering like the Yogo sapphires set in a platinum tiara that Brick and Cecil pilfered in Ought Three. "Those wings are headed for trouble and they're taking you with them." He grinned, proud of coming up with this bon mot on the spur of the moment. 

Kitka folded her wings and arched a brow. This was her home territory, where New York City traffic clamor gave way to the whistle of zephyrs between skyscrapers. "I am not sure if I want to make up. There are other birds out there who can _fly."_

"Low blow, Kitka."

"Didn't we already do that? Oh wait, that was me. No. The answer is no. You and I are done."

Skipper fished for reasons to hook up without sounding needy, but _damn_ , it had been a long drought. He'd expected to be rounding second base by now. "What if that mean falcon guy finds your new nest? I could protect you!"

Kitka looked him up and down and peered pointedly behind him and to either side. "You're alone. Rico isn't here to toss you skyward to fight him and anyway, my wing is all better. I can fight my own battles."

This was not going to plan, and Skipper always held to a plan except when he threw it over for a better one. It wasn't time to throw this plan away just yet. He playacted with a pitiful look and was only half joking when he pouted, _"C'mon_ , doesn't seeing me again make you remember --- "

"Stop. Just stop. You know that I haven't any pity. Predators can't afford any."

Common ground, always advance on common ground. "Hey, I'm a predator, _too."_

"You? Alice tosses you fish each day, how does that make you a predator?"

Skipper felt himself shrink from his earlier eagerness for a reunion. The physical response dropped his endorphins to below sea level in Death Valley. "Yeah okay that's right but" --- he pierced her with his best determined look --- "before we penguins got sidetracked into the zoo, I had to learn how to fish and stuff with no parents coaching me. I was barely beyond a hatchling." He ladled on the pathos with a leaden spoon because, hey, it _might_ work. "I had to be responsible for baby Private _and_ the others." 

_There_ was the haughty, aristocratic look that attracted him originally. "What have you caught lately?"

Somehow she wasn't so pretty since she healed past being dependent of his nurturing her back to full flying health. He glanced at her wing. It looked identical to the one that hadn't been broken. Hmm. Maybe coming here hadn't been such a good strategy after all. He'd give it one more try. "I could help you decorate your nest, you know, bring in pebbles and seaweed --- "

He could tell she was getting bored because she looked up to check the weather as a cloud passed over a weak March sun while the touch of sunny warmth faded. " _Nuh_ uh. Let's leave our memories untarnished, all right? I'm on my own, you've got your team to go back to --- "

Skipper's Log would never hold _this_ entry. "You're so independent, well, be that way. I like birds and there are other birds, and, and mammals, and even _reptiles_ who like _me_. Stuff it, Kitka." Bridges burned, so be it. He turned his back on her to head for the edge of the roof.

Kitka scraped her left outside talon against the tar and gravel rooftop of her new home. The sun came out from behind the cloud. "Wait. Skipper, how did you get up here?"

He had already scratched off this solo mission from today's mental agenda and was returning to base the way he came. He paused at the roof's gutter and looked down six stories where something by Vivaldi floated up from a string quartet. A street fair celebrating St. Urho's Day featured small crowds of happy shoppers and several stilt walkers ambulating in a conjoined costume as they portrayed a neon green grasshopper. "Working backwards? Zipline, crosstown bus, waddling four blocks in stealth mode and pole vaulting over the zoo fence because I was so _hot_ to see you again. Why?"

"I can give you a lift home."

"Forget it. I'm outta here."

He dropped over the side of the building without a backwards look. The zipline held him up as he pushed off and then it loosened halfway through his course. He ripped out his worst curse as he lost his grip on the line. By General MacArthur's _return_ , he knew how to take a fall, of course, but this was going to hurt.

He hadn't stayed frosty on the way over as he burned to be with her. Failing to secure the line properly stung like a paper cut as he paid the price for his inattention to detail while blinded by passion. Really, it was going to be humiliating to explain this to his troops, if he ever got back to them, that is.

Skipper looked around for options.

Ahah, the Simpkins Embroidered Pillow And Tasseled Sham Emporium next door to where his zipline dangled! Look at all their fluffy inventory! And their window was open to catch refreshing spring breezes! He stuck his flippers out like ailerons and made a rudder out of his feet and stubby tail. No _way_ was he going to make it easy for the sidewalk to win by plunging headfirst into Portland cement if he missed the window.

_gonna make it ..._

_gonna make it ..._

_gonna make it ..._

_gonna make it ..._

_gonna make it ..._

_not gonna make it ..._

The sidewalk loomed ten feet down when a shriek hurt his earholes and a _something_ grabbed both feet. The _something_ pierced the skin but at least he wasn't going to smush against the pavement. Skipper strained his neck upwards to see Kitka's buff underbelly feathers and muscled chest bulging with effort as she hauled him skyward.

The crowd became animated.

"Cheezy louisey! A falcon caught something!"

"It's got a _duck_ , fuh cryin' out loud!"

"Onward, men!"

A stiltwalker with a grasshopper's antennae on his head lurched towards them with two others connected behind to make a pass at collecting him from midair, but Kitka's skill as frequent flyer zigged when the stiltwalkers zagged. The two birds evaded them like a P-51 Mustang eludes a Stuka. The off-balance stiltwalkers twisted their grasshopper leg stilts as inept newbies eating Szechuan cuisine twist their chopsticks. The men flopped into the crowd, several of whom bravely moshed them to safety.

With blood rushing to all the wrong places, Skipper saw no way to make Kitka's task easier by squirming in pain, so he adopted his least favorite maneuver, Routine Seventeen: Just Relax And Take It You Fool. 

Kitka flapped desperately. "See," she panted, "you've eaten way too much fish with no effort."

"Just put me down," he growled as he swayed mid-air. "I want to cover my shame. Give me that much, Kitka."

Kitka landed like a ruptured duck onto a three-story building. The two birds tumbled over and over and stopped at last against a wooden support of a rooftop pigeon house. Startled coos filled the air as Skipper wound up on top of Kitka. 

The falcon rolled her eyes so hard they must have hurt. "Hey, get off me! Never again. I know when to hold 'em and when to fold 'em."

Skipper forgot to be grateful as he gained his feet, extending a flipper to help her stand. "You know, I've had better break ups. It's a good skill to learn in life." The building was at the corner of 91st and West End Avenue. Skipper sighted the intersection and knew exactly which direction to take to return home after hiking down the fire escape. "I'll make it from here, lady." He bent to examine his feet. "You stabbed the hell out of me." 

"I had to. Sorry." To her credit, she sounded contrite.

Blood bubbled between the webs of his toes. Skipper caught her mesmerized look at the red stuff before she pushed the greed inside again. Sore and bleeding and fighting a grudge, he snapped to battle stance. "My _eyes_ are up here." Kitka still had a glazed expression so he added, "Don't take me on, sister. This is just a little prick." She licked her beak and dragged her gaze upwards again.

"I can control my urges, not like you." Why hadn't he ever noticed before that her eyes got all predator-ish when she turned wasp-ish?

He could not let that remark stand. "Oh, yeah, right! You were _hoping_ I'd come back --- " This was a wild shot. She hadn't actually looked anything like hopeful. "You were _dreaming_ that I'd come find you --- "

"No, I wasn't. Goodbye." She flew away.

"And good riddance," Skipper said to her tail feathers. He only half meant it.

IOIOIOIOIO

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for prompt "Interpretation" from December 2, 2016, on TheForce.net Non-Star Wars Fanfiction Board.


End file.
